Please
by blossomed-angel
Summary: The final pleas of the broken hearted. Dark. Oneshot.


Sometimes, thinking too deeply into things can be a terrible crime. If wishes could be made true, there would be no point in the present. What is past has passed.

No wishes will ever bring Harry or Ron back to her.

Ron, sweet Ron. The awkwardness in his soft lingering touches. The slight slant in his bashful smile. The valiance that shone through at the very last moment the permanent aura of inadequacy that had surrounded him throughout his life.

All that remains are memories.

Hermione gasped as his fingers trailed across her body, and she shuddered unwillingly. It was dark, and the shaking illuminations that danced off his cool expression did not put her at ease. There was a low humming in her ears. Or perhaps it was her imagination? Tricking her into believing that she would hear something other than the oppressive silence that surrounded their quiet movements.

His lips met hers.

Harry, dear Harry. Bless him. Bless his poor spirit. Tortured to death and buried in pieces in an unmarked grave. She had been forced to watch. She stood by, screaming and shrieking her horror, raising her cries to the sky, hoping for some answer from the deities above. She had watched him writhe, boldly forcing his screams of agony to remain in his throat, where they belonged.

She gave out a sharp cry as she felt him forcefully drive into her. She had broken through the oppressiveness. In daring to do so, she had demonstrated terrible weakness, but the humiliation was nothing to her now.

She had been starved for days, been strung naked by the ankles to the wall for many hours before this. Somehow, dangling upside down had made the image of Ginny's slowly rotting corpse an easier sight to bear. She too had undergone the same suffering as the one Hermione was enduring now. However, the brilliant mind along with the steel-willed spirit dissipated from the girl before the Dark Lord could have his fun with her.

She could be counted as fortunate.

Hermione's back rubbed almost silently against the frictionless marble floor. How was it possible for this man to make such a deplorable act so elegant? Even when performing the foulest, most despicable deeds, he could seem completely detached and aloof. Hermione would have smiled if she were not gagging on the stench that was being emitted from the foul experience. Here was the only thing left of her charming childhood that had not changed at all.

Her other anchors were all gone.

She opened her eyes finally, lifting her own to join with his. To her surprise, he allowed her to forge that link that she so desperately sought. She could read nothing in his gaze, however, although she was sure he could read volumes from hers. Perhaps he would finally uncover her secrets. Maybe he would feel pity for her…

After all, she had just sacrificed her virginity to him, had she not?

Time seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Why was it taking so long? Hermione's mind was floating adrift on a cloud. At last she felt his thin frame still and shudder momentarily. Is this the end?

She had thought the same thing on that day. The Last Battle: when she had foolishly entertained the belief that Harry would prevail over the sinister evil that had governed his and their lives. She was wrong. Utterly, miserably wrong. In fact, he had barely made it to You-Know-Who's field of vision when he had taken three different curses to the back. Ron and herself had been horrified. They had failed in their task of protecting him.

In the spur of the moment, Ron had sprinted those remaining few yards in his blind rage, mindlessly throwing curses at the Devil himself. Hermione was left to fend off the rest that were closing in, all the while attempting to resuscitate the unconscious Harry. At the same time, she watched with dawning horror as Voldemort effortlessly flicked Ron's spells out of the way, as though he were merely swatting flies. Time had stopped still. Ron's movements stilled. His body crumpled to the ground. She could still bring forth the image of his expression of anguish mingling with frustration and determination. He had been a true Gryffindor right to the end.

In that instant, she finally understood why so many people feared Him. She finally realised as to why everyone had done everything to keep Harry from having to face Him. She finally knew. And in the very instant that she knew the truth, pain and darkness had taken away her senses.

There had been so many captives. So many of the Light who had been snuffed out, one by one. There was no one left. No one left besides her.

Tears, long overdue, now poured forth from her eyes in grief for their deaths.

Doubtless the man who had pulled out of her and was righting his clothes would think that she was shedding tears due to the violating act that had just taken place. His lips were pulled into a satisfied smirk.

No. She had long ago forgotten what it was like to be selfish and to think for herself.

She stared into the limitless depths of his eyes, and forced him to know that she was still strong. Despite all that occurred, they had not broken her. He had not broken her. She would welcome pain, for it meant nothing to her anymore. She would welcome death, for it is only the beginning. She would see her parents again, and she would see all those whom she had called beloved.

Never mind that she would die at the young age of twenty. She had gone through enough in her lifetime, and she was tired of living. What is the point of living alone in a hostile world? Darwin said that there was Natural Selection. Obviously things were just not meant to be, and Hermione was now the weakest link.

The man above her pulled his face into a sneer, and wrinkled his large nose. She had hoped to incite some sort of sympathetic reaction, perhaps. She was hoping for some indication of the man she had once admired and even dared to care for.

The cloaked wizards standing in the circle around them shifted.

His wand lifted. His mouth opened and closed as he spoke the words. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, although she no longer believed there could possibly be a god in existence. What god would allow such evil to pervade the world? Still, she prayed that they would bury her in one piece. She prayed to be left on public display for no more than a week. If anyone watching over her was merciful, perhaps the Dark Lord would not let the necrophiliacs among his ranks to have a go at her.

What a shining example of disillusioned wishful thinking. She knew it. But what use is knowing now?

Sometimes, thinking too deeply into actions or words can lead to confusion and misinterpretation. However, thinking too deeply into emotions, would lead to downfall.

She opened her eyes again. Her heart ached at the sight. Was that a tear crawling down his porcelain cheek? Was this really an act of mercy veiled behind an act of hatred? Her brain wailed for answers, even when she was barely a breath away from death. She begged her educator with her eyes.

_Please._

There was a flood of green.

Darkness consumed her.


End file.
